Leon would only allow someone he trusted into this room. But it wouldn’t have been difficult to take him by surprise. Follow him to his room, wait until he opens the door, shove him inside. If they took him unaware, they could have used their power to deal the first blow. And Axia said he was drugged.
I move around the sigil, studying the swoops and swirls. I believed Rorrik when he told me about the sacrifices to Mortuus, and yet … the thought that someone is attempting to free him … it makes sweat break out on the back of my neck.
Not someone.Someones.Tiberius is dead, and Rorrik mentioned asectsacrificing people to Mortuus. Since the murders continued after I killed Tiberius—something I no longer feel any guilt about—at least one other person in the ludus is attempting to free Mortuus for good.
But why? What possible motive could they have?
Sighing, I move to one of the only clean spots in the room and sit on the marble floor next to Leon’s chair, my back against the wall as I contemplate the sigil.
Decay. Death. Destruction. Chaos.
The murderer could be one of the emperor’s enemies. Someone who feels hopeless, like there’s no other way to make him pay. I could understand that, except for the fact that Mortuus won’t discriminate. He won’t just kill the emperor if he breaks free of his prison. He’ll slaughter everyone.
What if someone is killing against their own will? There are hundreds of myths and legends from before the gods began to lose power, and in many of those stories, the gods trick their followers into doing their bidding.
My skin turns clammy. That thought is even scarier.
Sitting here isn’t helping. I reach out a hand to push myself up off the floor, my elbow knocking the chair. My finger brushes something soft.
It’s tiny—little more than a piece of fluff, stuck beneath the chair leg.
But it’s not fluff. I lift it to my face, my heart pounding.
It’s the tip of a lavender feather.
Leon has a healthy respect for the maginari. I’ve seen the sorrow in his eyes that tells me he hates what the emperor does to the maginari who oppose him, but as far as I know, he’s never interacted with them directly.
Shoving the feather into my pocket, I leave Leon’s room. The room’s ward pops back into place behind me, and I hurry down the corridor toward the healers’ quarters.
Maeva is sleeping once more. Axia gives me a warning shake of her head, but I stride to Maeva’s side, ruthlessly shaking her shoulder to wake her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper as I lean close to her ear. “But I need you to tell me everything you know about where the maginari are kept … and how you were planning to get in.”
RORRIK’S PENDANT BUMPSagainst my sternum as I stride down the corridor between the ludus and the arena. Tomorrow, the emperor will put us all on display, marching us into the arena to be presented to the public. I have no doubt he has something suitably grisly planned directly after the presentation.
For now, the corridor is almost empty, and the imperius armor I’m wearing will at least allow me to get near the maginari without raising suspicion—unless one of the imperiums catch me sneaking around, impersonating them.
Unsurprisingly, Maeva didn’t allow my initial refusal to help her free the maginari to dampen her own determination. She’s been planning to find a way down to them for months, and I repeat her instructions silently in my mind as I make my way to the holding rooms beneath the arena.
Twice I’ve waited in this exact spot. And I was too busy contemplating my own mortality to notice the trapdoor at the very edge of the room.
But Maeva wasn’t. The last time we were here, I noticed her staring in this direction. Even then, she was planning her approach.
A sudden sound breaks the silence. It’s the abrasive sound of boots scuffing against stone in the distance, and my heart trips in my chest. I’ve taken too long, and if I don’t move now, the patrol will reach me in moments.
I brush away a thin layer of sand, hauling the trapdoor open. It lets out a screech that makes my blood turn cold and I burrow into the yawning hole like a rat retreating into the shadows, pulling the door closed behind me.
Panting in the dark, I keep moving. Five steps down, and I’m in a dank, freezing corridor. My teeth begin chattering almost immediately, the sound deafening to my own ears.
The most dangerous part is over, according to Maeva. The maginari have never escaped before, and the emperor keeps most of them too weak to even attempt such a thing.
I keep my steps light as I walk down the corridor. No use advertising my presence if a guard decides to do a check.
“Left,” I whisper as I get to the first intersection. “Left, left, right.”
By the time I take the final turn, there’s no need to remember Maeva’s instructions. The scent of filth reaches my nostrils, tinged with an underlying reek of hopelessness and despair.
The corridor opens to a cavernous space so large, I can’t see where it ends. The cage within the space is a monstrous construct of twisted iron and silver, the bars thicker than my forearm, the floor littered with scratches and gouges. Even from here, I can feel the power emanating from the lock in the center of the cage. Warded. Even the most powerful gold sigilmarked couldn’t break that ward without the key to that lock.
